Page 5 of The English Duke
Her grandmother, dressed in black, which was the only color she’d worn for as long as Martha could remember, sat beside Josephine. Her sister was wearing a dark blue high-waisted traveling dress. Martha’s attire was similar but not as fashionable since her dress was at least three years old while Josephine had recently freshened her wardrobe. Martha’s bonnet was the match of her grandmother’s, not as flattering as the hat her sister wore, a small, attractive bit of straw and feathers set forward as if to accentuate the perfection of Josephine’s face.
Josephine’s brunette hair was swept up and away, the better to reveal her beauty. Her eyes were deep green, the color of grass. Martha’s were a muddy brown and nondescript, a word she thought applied to the rest of her.
She and Josephine were of a height, but her sister’s figure was perfect while hers was slightly heavier in the bosom.
Marie had once made the comment that Martha was of English peasant stock, the perfect form for giving birth and suckling a dozen children. She’d been eighteen at the time and had only stared, hurt, at her stepmother.
“Oh, Martha, we can’t all be beauties. Besides, we both know you’d be happier being your father’s assistant for the rest of your life. Balls and soirées are not your cup of tea.”
She could still hear Marie’s trilling laugh and the words that had proven to be unfortunately prophetic. She wasn’t the type for a season. Look how disastrously it had turned out.
She’d had three offers. The first was from a young man who’d been served up like a salmon on a salver by his mother. He’d spoken fewer than seven words during the whole of their acquaintance.
Finally, in desperation, she had asked him, “Why do you want to marry me?”
The poor thing had answered, “Because Mama says I must.”
She’d prevailed upon her father to decline his offer immediately.
Her second suitor had been a friend of a friend of the family. He’d been entirely suitable in many ways. He made a good income in the City. He was presentable and nearly handsome. He was, however, so dictatorial that she couldn’t tolerate five minutes in his company. When he wanted a glass of punch he decided she should fetch it for him. He wanted to go smoke a cigarillo and didn’t even explain why he abruptly left. He told her the colors he preferred in her dresses and how her hair should be arranged.
She was not going to be dictated to by a husband. Her father had raised her to believe her mind was the equal of any man’s. She didn’t have to be subservient. Unfortunately, her suitor didn’t understand the idea of a woman refusing him.
“Of course we’ll marry,” he said. “You’re not entirely a beauty, Martha. Plus, I understand you’ve put your mind to things not womanly in nature. However, a house full of children will rectify that, I think.”
She’d come close to coshing him over the head with something heavy. It was Gran who’d saved her from doing bodily injury.
The third supplicant for her hand had made no effort to conceal the fact that he was penniless. He was an earl, quite lovely to look at and charming. She was almost inclined to accept his suit, but for the fact she caught him with a maid on the terrace. The discovery had added to her knowledge in two ways. She evaluated men with a jaundiced eye now and she’d seen the actual act. He hadn’t been the least discreet and she’d been an unwilling voyeur.
But for a chance encounter, she might have been married to the lecher.
Josephine had ignored everything she told her about a season in London. Her warning about it being boring, endless, and painful from time to time, given that her shoes pinched and her corset was laced entirely too tight, had fallen on deaf ears.
Her sister would probably enjoy London since she was Martha’s opposite.
Josephine was beautiful and personable, exhibiting no hesitation when it came to social situations. Granted, the past year had been devoid of most encounters outside of the family, a complaint Josephine uttered often.
Her sister seemed to have resented their father’s death—or its timing—especially since it coincided with what would have been her introduction to London. Save for that tragedy, she might already be engaged at the moment. Or, at the least, sighing over some young peer.
It would be only a few months until Gran took her sister off to London to be paraded in front of the wolves of the Marriage Mart like a wealthy sheep. Josephine would, no doubt, handle herself well. Her sister had a great deal more inclination to flirt and to charm than she did.
She was, perhaps, too literal, a fault she shared with her father. When someone told her the world was crashing down around their heads, she looked up at the ceiling. She didn’t speak in hyperbole. Nor did she understand the need for drama. Just state the facts, add some research to back up your hypothesis, and a solution would become obvious.
“I really don’t see why it takes so long,” Josephine said.
Her grandmother closed her eyes. Martha couldn’t help but wonder if Gran was trying to ignore Josephine.
Amy only clutched the handle above the window. Poor thing was looking increasingly pale. Her grandmother’s maid had been with her for decades and was considered as much a friend as a servant. Amy also had a sunny nature, one that went perfectly with her round face and cute nose. She was most often smiling, at least when she wasn’t traveling. The rocking motion of the carriage, even their well-sprung vehicle, set her stomach to rolling.
Martha sent her a bracing smile that Amy returned wanly. She’d accompanied them on this journey for Susan’s benefit, another fact about which Josephine complained. The two girls shared a maid, Sarah, who’d been left at home.
“It’s not as if Amy is proficient at hair, Gran,” Josephine had said.
“She doesn’t need to be,” Martha interjected. “We aren’t remaining at Sedgebrook. We’ll be there long enough to deliver Father’s bequest and that’s all. We’ll remain overnight at an inn, then turn around and come home.”
Regardless of the initial plans, Josephine had packed not one valise but three, insisting she needed everything, even for an overnight journey.
Martha blew out a breath and concentrated on the scenery. They were crossing a bridge now, quite a wide structure with a slight arch. She sat up, trying to peer through the struts for a view of the river. She’d expected a calm, easy-flowing stream and was greeted by a rushing torrent cascading over the rocks bordering it and looking as if it was racing to be somewhere on time.
